Nonfiction

At the beginning of December, I found myself on Capitol Hill for a poetry reading. I had some time to spare, so I walked around the neighborhood’s green-space, Cal Anderson Park.

Dear Santa,

For the first time in my life I am terrified.
Terrified for my life and the lives of others. 
Because this is real, this is actually happening.
Standing on the front steps before class, hearing murmurings 

In the future, I hope to start a goat farm somewhere in Castleton. I also want to help my cousin Ariana in Milton with her diner, tattoo and yoga place. I might start a bakery somewhere between Milton and Castleton too.

How fashion comes back around 

She dreamed of someone who couldn't quite be placed... 
Blonde hair laid upon her shoulders
Multiple hoops spun around her waist
She was small and thin but stood stong
A smile beamed from cheek to cheek
This person was her

Each Christmas with my family is spectacular, but one Christmas when I was about 8 years old sticks out in particular. My parents woke me up at around 8:30 that cold, Christmas morning like they usually do.

Today is Sunday and my mom brought me and my siblings to church. But church was different today. There was a guest.

Now and then, I am struck with the epiphany that I am not the only consciousness in this world. This realization does not come when I talk with other people, but rather when I am with an animal.

By Jacob Phelps

I'm inspired by people who care, who help, who can do great things but still be humble about it.

I want to thank the voice in my head.
The voice that stays confined in my headspace and communicates solely with me.
The one that whispers to me in the dark and coaxes me out towards the light.